


Tuxedo Black

by Nottherealdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fratricide Reference, Gen, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1703063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nottherealdean/pseuds/Nottherealdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean repairing the impala's paint after 9x16, Blade Runners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuxedo Black

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on biketest's lj for the Season 9 Dean-Centric Comment Meme and tumblr on Apr. 23, 2014.

Prompt: Dean trying to fix the impala after Abaddon’s demons scratched her up so badly in Blade Runners.

He set the primer and the spray can of Tuxedo Black on Baby’s hood. The bucket he filled at the spigot— the coiled up hose, even inside the protection of the Bunker’s garage, was cracked from age and had pathetically gushed water everywhere when he’d tried it. So he’d dug around in the bay that held the service and repair tools and found an old galvanized bucket near the soap and stack of clean rags. He took the bucket back to the car and dropped a rag into it, and watched as the white cloth floated on top, soaking up water and turning faintly transparent before sinking to the bottom. He dribbled in a splash of soap, thinking that he should have put it in before the water so it sudsed up as the bucket filled. 

He wiped at the scratches with the soapy rag, washing out every speck of dirt and loose flake of paint. He could make her as good as new: smooth, glossy, unblemished. It wouldn’t even be that hard. He emptied the bucket down the floor drain and refilled it with clear water, then poured it along Baby’s side until it ran down free of bubbles. He would let it air dry, to be sure there were no water droplets or fibers from a drying rag left in the scratches before he laid down the primer. 

He started to roll down his sleeves, ready to leave her overnight, and felt the cloth brush over the Mark. Not enough to catch on it, just enough to remind him that it was there, a raised pink welt on his skin. It would be easier if he were a car, he thought as he pulled his cuff all the way down. There’d be no pain, just a new coat of paint, and damage on the surface would stay on the surface, leaving the inside workings fine. 

If he were a car he could be used for anything and it wouldn’t hurt. 

If he were a person, he wouldn’t have to be useful. 

Hot on the heels of that unbidden thought came another, sliding in like a snake or that guy’s knife between Sam’s vertebrae.  _Am I my brother’s keeper?_  

In the silence of the garage he whispered, “No,” and on his lips it sounded like a denial of the question but in his mouth it tasted like an answer, and in both places it hurt.


End file.
